


Importance

by SharpenTheSoul



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: D&D suck, Dark Daenerys, F/M, Fuck that ending, Madness, Political Jon Snow, jon snow is not a doormat, not Daenerys friendly, thoughts of home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-04 20:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18820579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpenTheSoul/pseuds/SharpenTheSoul
Summary: A victory. At what cost? Jon sees through his plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hate hate hate what D&D have done to Jon Snow. He would NOT ignore the advice of his sisters, the people who he cares for most in the world, who he fought for, to be Daenerys's doormat. 
> 
> I had to write this to fix some of the atrocity that season 8 has inflicted upon Jon. 
> 
> Jonsa is mentioned in here but there's no real romance. Still, everything he is doing is for her in part.
> 
> this is NOT Daenerys friendly. Be warned

By the time she had finished with Drogon, King's Landing as a city for all intents and purposes no longer existed.

The Red Keep still stood – at least most of it – which is where Jon found the Dothraki and Unsullied, cheering for the coming of the Queen. She stood, proud as proud could be at the top of the stairs leading into the seat of the Iron Throne.

Shoving himself through the crowd, he stopped in front to stare at her.

This _madwoman_.

This _tyrant._

The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils. The stench of death wafted over the ruins of the once-great city in waves. He had to stop from tripping over the burnt bodies of men, women and children – those who had not taken up arms against her.

His entire experience with Daenerys had been a gamble; one designed to secure the North – and ensure that his family would never have to suffer at the hands of a foreign ruler again. He had given her his obedience and fealty; even when it hurt the most, to see Sansa and Arya believe him to be siding against them.

Yet everything he had done was for _them._

Sansa knew the truth now; most of all, she knew where he stood. He'd confessed as much to her before leaving south with the remains of their army. “I told you to trust me,” he had said with a smile, “do you think I would give up our home and our freedom so easily?”

She was a master of the game; having learned at the hands of master manipulators and schemers like Cersei and Littlefinger. Yet even she had been surprised by his sudden play – the honorable and honest Jon Snow, lying for the good of the realm? He had seen where stern and unflinching honor had gotten him.

“Be careful,” she'd warned as she saw him off with a kiss. Love had come easily to them; especially after the truth of his bloodline had been revealed. Anger had turned to acceptance and grief; but much to his shame, lust.

The connection between them was too strong. Stronger than any sovereign. Stronger then any Queen would ever be. _Sansa is the only Queen I follow,_ he told himself even now, watching Daenerys rule over her kingdom of death and ash.

She retreated inside after speaking briefly; he had drowned out her voice, lost in his own thoughts.

Jon followed, with Davos close behind. The Onion Knight shared his stark horror at what had happened; a siege had turned into a slaughter. His own men – proud, Northern soldiers – had killed, raped and pillaged their way through the city while she rained hell-fire down upon everyone below.

They had ordered, cajoled and begged their men to withdraw – and thankfully, many of them did. But some did not, and Jon knew they still killed and raped and pillaged even now. Screams could be heard echoing throughout the shattered landscape.

 

* * *

As he entered the throne room he saw Tyrion Lannister being dragged away by a group of Unsullied.

“She will destroy your family to get what she wants!” he screamed to Jon, struggling in desperation against his captors, “there is nothing left within her but madness!”

His cries echoed as he was dragged away.

She stood in front of the Iron Throne; the objective – nay, _obsession_ – of her life. Thousands had burned to get her here. Jon's deception had cost so many lives, and the cost weighed down upon him like a great weight.

But it was what had to be done. _Kill the boy_ , he remembered the words of Maester Aemon, _and let the man be born._

This was the moment he had to ensure peace. Not just for Winterfell, for Sansa, Bran, Arya – but for every man, woman and child in every one of the seven kingdoms.

“They did not rise up against their oppressor,” she was saying, her voice cracking with barely contained fury. “Cersei was a tyrant. I came to free them and yet they did not rejoice. They did not cheer.”

Jon took a few steps forward. “The city -” he began to say, still playing the role of obedient lick-spittle.

* * *

Daenerys turned to face him. Her expression was one of madness. A smile played on her lips, and Jon knew that Mad Aerys' daughter was here, finishing the work her father – and Jon's own grandfather – had started.

“Does not matter.” she explained, gesturing to him. “there will be other cities and other subjects to rejoice at my coming. I have Drogon. What else do I need?”

“At what cost, Your Grace?” he spat. He felt the cold fury of the wolf building within; his wolf dreams had him running, hunting and enjoying the splendour of the North within Ghost. To send him away with Tormund as he once through to do seemed madness now. Ghost was part of him; and soon he would return to his friend, his protector. But for now, Sansa needed him.

A scoff was his answer. “Your Queen commands you to prepare your men. There will still be battles and bloodshed to come. The Westerlands still stands against me. We must march on them at once. Rip them out root and stem, like I said.” she folded her arms, “my old bear would understand.”

She spoke of Jorah Mormont, dead and buried. “He is not here.” Jon retorted again, stepping even closer to her. “What you have done -”

“Will echo through the ages. No one will dare to disobey ME.” she snarled. “Would you, Jon Snow?”

Jon sighed.

“I am your Queen, am I not?” she grumbled. “Ready your men.”

“I will not.” he replied, the cold fury still building within. He wanted to rip her apart with his bare hands, this vile, evil woman who dared to reign over his home, his people?

Daenerys folded her hands behind her. “Such insolence. Perhaps I need to pay a visit to Winterfell. Your sister Sansa – the lying bitch she is, was responsible for Tyrion's treason, too. I saved your wretched home, and this is how you repay me?”

* * *

_Did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?_

_We don't trust your Queen._

_Do you have any faith in me at all?_

_We needed allies!_

_We don't trust your Queen._

_She's not my Queen. Not really._

_We don't trust your Queen._

_You didn't tell me you were going to abandon your crown!_

_We needed allies!_

_Do you have any faith in me at all?_

_Sansa._

_Arya._

_Bran._

_Robb._

_Rickon._

_Father._

_Even Lady Stark._

_Winterfell._

These were what was important.

Always. Even as he played this dangerous game of thrones with a dangerous woman.

“The North Remembers.” he said as he drove Longclaw through her chest.

* * *

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His Grace, Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do command you, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North to travel to King's Landing and swear him your fealty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is no way in hell I will accept Jon being forced into exile after saving the world twice. and his family? the lone wolf dies but the pack survives? everyone goes away. just like that??? no one sticks up for this guy who's whole arc has been about putting himself over others??

_His Grace, Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do command you, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North to travel to King's Landing and swear him your fealty._

Sansa and her escort entered the shattered ruins of King's Landing by way of the Gate of the Gods – being the only one of the entrances left standing and open to traffic. The path to the remains of the Red Keep was clear, kept so by a mixture of Northern soldiers and gold cloaks.

Fires still raged throughout the city, with the sounds of the dying being heard faintly on the wind. Shelters and tents had been set up for the survivors, and the City Watch – what remained of them – was doing what they could to keep order and control any wanton acts of violence.

Since receiving the letter Sansa had rode hard, leaving at first light from Winterfell that same day. In her heart, she knew that Jon's plan had succeeded – somehow. He would not have been styled as King if he meant to trick her into swearing loyalty to Daenerys.

Beside her, Brienne of Tarth looked as appalled as she. “My Lady,” she began, hand remaining on her sword, “this is the victory that the Dragon Queen spoke of?”

“So it would seem.” Sansa nodded.

Growing closer to the Red Keep found her heart beating faster in her chest. Sansa had spent so much time desiring to be away from this wretched city and its southern politics, but even now seeing as much of it in ruin as it was still horrified her. The people of the city – simple folk trying to live a normal life – did not deserve to be the victims of such needless devastation.

Yet she thought only of what would be waiting for her inside the halls. _Jon._

Or was it King Aegon? Sansa bit down on her lip, the thoughts stirring in her head even now. She knew he would only use that name as a formality; he'd hated it once Bran had told him as such. Making sure no eyes were on her, she brushed a hand across her lips as the memory of their last kiss flooded into her mind's eye.

Monsters and madmen had taken her for their pleasure. The likes of Joffrey and Ramsay Bolton. But Jon – he was a man she chose.

Reaching the top of Aegon's High Hill she dismounted, her escort following close behind. The courtyard of the keep was littered with rubble and shelters for wounded smallfolk. Many huddled around makeshift fires as babes cried and others mourned their dead.

Sansa noticed men-at-arms with different sigils all around her – she saw the red and ermine chevroels of House Rosby, the green lamb of Stokeworth, and the three spirals of House Massey. _Crownlands houses,_ she knew. It would seem that manpower was lacking and that King Aegon had managed to secure the support of the minor castles in the area, at least.

Ser Davos was waiting just before the great double doors leading to the Iron Throne.

 

* * *

“Lady Sansa,” he smiled, taking her hand and kissing it respectfully. “Ser Brienne. It is good to see you both.”

The former smuggler turned knight looked as though he'd not slept in days. Sansa took note of his weary face and disheveled appearance; also, the badge of the Hand of the King he wore above his right breast.

“Thank you, Ser Davos.” Sansa smiled, “or should I say Lord Davos?” she gestured to the pin. “My congratulations. It seems King Aegon has chosen wisely.”

Davos rolled his eyes. “I wish he hadn't, between you and I. I begged him to keep Lord Tyrion on as his Hand, but no. For the good of the realm, and all that. Now I have to oversee what is left of the city while we wait for more help to come in.”

“The situation...” Brienne began, “it...I cannot begin to describe it.”

The Onion Knight nodded solemnly. “It is bad, aye. We are still digging dead bodies out of the rubble. It was only when the Crownlands houses arrived that we were able to get the looting and rapes under control, since we took so many casualties getting the Dothraki and Unsullied taken care of.” He grimaced slightly as he spoke, "The City Watch – well, what's left of them – is doing their part now but again, more of them turned bandit and raper the first chance they got.” he sighed while rubbing his beard, “though I hope once the Faith chooses a new High Septon it will start to restore the people's calm, if only somewhat.”

Sansa put a hand on the door. She felt her heart start to race again – coming back here was almost a reckoning. Yet before she had been a prisoner of a heartless King, a monster who had taken her father, her friends and home from her.

Now she was here to see a man she loved, a man who had given his all for the entirety of the realm – who had set aside his own desires, wants and needs – sit the throne his father and grandfathers had sat and built.

“I need to go see to the arriving Lords.” Ser Davos bowed and shuffled towards the exit. As he left, he turned back for a moment to Sansa, “I know he will be overjoyed to see you.”

The doors opened as she pushed her way inside, Brienne following close behind.

“Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North!” the herald announced.

 

* * *

Jon sat the Iron Throne amid the shattered ruins of the Great Hall. _He sits it as a King should,_ Sansa observed as she resisted the urge to run to him.

He looked as haggard as Ser Davos did; his hair was messy and untidy, and a thin beard has begun to form across his face. He was flanked by a trio of maesters, all of whom took no notice of her as they continued to speak. She took note of the dried blood near the seat itself; _Daenerys's blood_ , she presumed. Jon had done what had to be done to save the realm – and she loved him even more for it.

Standing up at once, Jon shoved the men out of his way and rushed down from the dais. He came to a stop within a few steps of her, face a mixture of relief and joy. “You came...” he whispered, eyes starting to grow wet with the faintest hint of tears.

It was then she launched herself into his arms, their lips crashing together forcefully as he gripped her by the hips tightly, refusing to let go. Jon spun her around, causing her to squeal into his mouth with delight and alarm. He smelled awful – considering he had spent the better part of several weeks to months without bathing it was only natural – but in this moment she cared nothing about what odours lingered.

“I obeyed a royal command, Your Grace.” she smirked.

Jon rolled his eyes. “I have another one that I hope you obey.” he whispered, hand coming up to cup her cheek. “I need you here, with me. I cannot do this alone. I do not want to do this alone – I want to go home. But now I find myself here, sitting a throne I do not want.”

It was almost expected that he would ask her; Sansa was not surprised. She had given it a great deal of thought while riding to King's Landing and while part of her was wont to refuse, to declare the North a free and independent kingdom, another part of her knew that the world would be better off with a just ruler – after the horrors inflicted upon them by Lannisters and mad Targaryens alike.

* * *

“Please, Sansa...” Jon begged, tears flowing freely down his cracked face.

If it was any other, she would refuse them. The allure of the south had long ago faded, with the songs and stories of her childhood having been revealed as naught but lies perpetuated by frauds and liars who painted a flowery picture of life.

But this was Jon. The man she chose. How could she refuse him? How could she condemn him to a life of isolation in a place as hostile as this? _The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._ Her pack was smaller by one if she simply let him go.

She raised a finger to his lips. “You need not ask, dearest Jon.”

In that moment, there was nothing but bliss in the middle of sorrow.

* * *

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pure fluffy chapter here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to you guys and your kind support I shall continue this story! more on jon's feelings of killing D in the next one promise!

Sansa looked out of the window of her chambers – well, her and Jon's, given how space in the Red Keep was at a premium – and let out a sigh. As much as she had despised King's Landing, it still hurt her to see the ruin that now remained of a once-great city, the capital of a dynasty that lasted hundreds of years.

Lord Davos had reported bodies were still being unearthed in what was left of Flea Bottom, while the Blackwater was almost inaccessible via ship due to the amount of debris having landed in the bay. Any ship wishing to dock at the city had to put anchor out off the city's coast and row in via smaller boats, skiffs and the like.

The logistics of rebuilding such devastation was staggering. Jon had made mention of his sending word to the Iron Bank to begin talks for loans of repayment, and already some craftsmen had trickled into the city from the Crownland houses to begin the most basic of repairs.

Jon smiled from where he sat, reading a sheaf of parchment. “That was from Oldtown,” he informed her. “A new High Septon has been chosen. He will be departing for King's Landing within the day.”

He exhaled as he rose from the seat. “You know what that means...”

She turned to him. “You will be crowned.” Sansa took a step forward, grasping his hand ever so softly. “Westeros will have a King it needs. A King that it deserves.”

The prospect of marrying the King still had not sunk all the way in. She'd been in this position before, of course – the memories of Joff's abuse still rang in her head some nights, keeping her awake and sweating in fear of his return. But now – somehow, this is different.

* * *

“I still do not want this.” Jon sighed, rubbing his forehead. “yet as much as I wish to take a horse and return to Winterfell with all due haste, the gods are not done with my torment yet.” he raised his head, looking towards her. “With you here, Sansa – things will be better. You can be the ruler I cannot.”

Resting her hands on the desk, she knelt down before him. “You are the ruler this land needs, Jon. You have the blood of both Stark and Targaryen. You show none of the madness of Daenerys or those before her. You have the potential to be one of the greatest monarchs of our age.” She took his hands, bringing them to her lips. “And I will be here with you. We will do this together – if you falter, I will pick you up.”

 _He looks so tired_ , she thought. _The weight of leadership rests heavy upon the brow._ Yet in her heart, she knew Jon was the right choice for the realm. “I have to meet with Lord Tully in the morrow,” he said, running the tips of his fingers along her cheeks. “he and the River Lords are coming to swear fealty to the Crown. At least – I hope they are.”

“I thought Uncle Edmure a prisoner of the Freys?” she said, surprised.

Jon offered a sly smile. “Arya freed him when she poisoned Walder Frey and his brood of bastards.” he brought her hands to his lips, eyes gazing lovingly to her. “I have written to him – he has been in hiding with House Mallister – and said that once he and the River Lords swear fealty to the crown, we will assist them in ousting the Frey garrison from Riverrun.”

 _He's learning,_ she grinned. “Why Jon – that almost sounds like it came from a King's mouth.” she japed, causing him to laugh.

In the corner of the room – where she'd laid out a pile of blankets – Ghost stirred from his sleep, looking to the pair with half-open eyes.

“Sorry, boy.” Jon whispered, looking sheepish.

* * *

Sansa rose to her feet, gently helping Jon stand up. “I wonder what Father would think if he could see all of this.” she said, not catching herself in time. She did her best to avoid the subject; knowing it still brought some pain to Jon to think about him.

Indeed, she saw the glimmer of sadness in his eyes and regretted her words. “He would be so proud of you. Of Bran and Arya.” he assured her, pulling her close.

“You too, Jon. Father loved you. Never doubt that.” Sansa rested her head on his chest, hearing the soft breathing and beating of his heart.

He pressed a kiss to her head. “I know he did. I will always be his son – nothing can change that.” he whispered, clearly emotional. “Nothing can change the fact I love you either.”

Safety was a feeling Sansa thought fleeting, remote and unobtainable for most of her life. Yet in his arms – even here in the ruined shell of the Red Keep – she felt safe.

It was a good feeling.

* * *

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gods be good, who would want to be King?

“The dwarf promised me the castle,” Bronn jabbed a finger angrily towards Jon. “and I mean to collect on what is owed to me. I've spent years serving Lannister shits and now -”

Jon all but shouted back his response. “AND NOW – and now you must understand what you are asking me, Ser Bronn.” he sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily.

This matter was something of Tyrion's that had been left unfinished; the man had even wanted Jon to appoint the cutthroat Master of Coin – an absurd notion. “You wish for me to grant you the seat of Highgarden which is the seat of the most powerful family in the Reach. All on the word of Tyrion Lannister.”

“Do you any idea how absurd that sounds?” he finished, shaking his head.

Sansa bit back a laugh as she watched the spectacle from Jon's side. Ser Bronn had served Tyrion even when she was a hostage in King's Landing, so she knew the man was skilled with his blade if nothing else; yet Tyrion must have been a great fool to promise him such a lofty prize.

Bronn rolled his eyes, annoyance clear upon his face. “Absurd or not, I want what I've earned and was agreed to me. The dwarf serves at your pleasure, so I consider any oaths he made while serving the dragon queen just as valid as any made now.”

Maester Adamms, standing to Jon's left shook his head, causing his chain to jingle. “You are being insolent and disrespectful to the King of Westeros himself, ser. Knight or not – you will accept the decisions presented here no matter if you like them or not.”

Castle Stokeworth had provided its Maester as a temproary guide until a Grand Maester was chosen and dispatched. Jon took his counsel and advice with respect and wisdom; sometimes agreeing, other times not. It was the same with her, Sansa reasoned; Jon was learning the truth of leadership once more – though he'd plenty of experience as Lord Commander and King in the North; being King of the Seven Kingdoms was a different matter entirely.

* * *

“It is alright, Maester.” Jon looked to him with a nod. Turning back to Bronn, he eyed the sell-sword cautiously. “I have in fact received word of the fate of Highgarden, ser.” he held up a scroll in his left hand, “it seems that Elanora Tyrell, eldest daughter of the late Mace Tyrell still lives. She was in Volantis when the tragic events of her family's fall occurred, too afraid to return home.”

Leaning back in the seat, he held out the scroll. “I would offer it to you but I know you are unable to read it. She requests the return of her family's seat and restoration of the incomes and titles that were stolen from her by Cersei Lannister.”

Bronn reddened. “So I get nothing again, is that it?”

It was clear Jon was annoyed greatly with the man in front of him, but he huffed and continued after a moment's pause. “If you would listen, ser – I am going to propose a solution for you.” He rose to his feet, stepping down to be eye level with the man.

“The Lady Tyrell does find herself in need of a husband. She has requested that I do what I can to assist her in this matter. I would be willing to allow you a meeting with her. One meeting, at a place and time as mutually agreed. There, you may speak with her, charm her, or what have you.” he stepped up to the man, whos face was as red as a beet. “If – and only if – you meet with her genuine approval, I will consent to a betrothal of you and she.”

Confused, Bronn raised his bushy brow. “So you're saying that in order to get my castle, I have to woo this girl?” he asked, looking between Jon and Sansa both.

The idea was hers in fact; why not allow Lady Tyrell to take the measure of the man? Men would be far more honest and true of character in their attempts – sometimes foolish – to impress a woman with wealth.

Jon took his seat on the throne once more. “It will not be _your_ castle, ser. It will be Lady Tyrell's castle. However, should you marry her you will become Lord Tyrell, now part of the most powerful family in the Reach.”

* * *

That drew Bronn's attention. His face lit up as he considered what was said.

“There is one thing.” Jon continued, referring once again to the scroll. “If she does agree to this match – I would demand that you learn to read, write, and do sums. Lord of the Reach must be able in these things, and I will not have you drinking, whoring and spending the monies of House Tyrell frivolously.”

“Are you saying I'm wasteful?” he asked, indignant.

Sansa chose this moment to speak. “The King is offering you a great chance here, Ser Bronn. I know you to be polite and kind when you are able – and thus, you have a chance with a kind and gentle woman who is grieving after the loss of most of her family. Would you deny her the slim hope of some happiness with a man who loves and respects her?”

“As to the question of waste, Ser – you are a sell-sword, after all. So yes, we do.” she finished with a grin towards Jon.

“Alright, alright.” Bronn conceded. “I'll meet with her. But if this is a trick...”

Jon groaned audibly. “If it were, I would not have wasted my time with such a farce, ser. Now please – be off. We have much important work to do in rebuilding the city, after all.”

Once out of earshot, Jon turned to her. “Seven hells, where did Tyrion find this one?” he asked, exasperated. “Can you believe he actually suggested I make that one Master of Coin? I'd have better luck asking a pot boy to do that task.”

Looking around the now-empty hall, Sansa turned to Jon and gently squeezed his shoulder. The tension on his body was palpable, even with this simple touch. “We need to begin preparing the small council, as well.” she said, whispering into his ear and planting the gentlest of kisses on his cheek. “The sooner we do, the sooner all of the decisions do not have to be made by you.”

Nodding, Jon smiled at her.

* * *

They had already seen to her uncle Edmure and the river lords earlier that day; a force of some three thousand levies – mostly from the Crownlands and the Westerlands – would march under the command of Lord Roland Crakehall and relieve the Freys of Riverrun.

It was a strange feeling – having Lannisters march with Tullys to reclaim their ancestral seat – but Tyrion had assured Jon of Crakehall's loyalty. It also helped that he'd ordered the Tully forces to be the ones to retake Riverrun alone, with the Lannister host remaining outside the walls.

_In case of betrayal, they would be ready._

“And a Kingsguard.” he grumbled, rising to his feet. “I know we have Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick, but we'll need more then just those two for protection.” Brienne had eagerly accepted Sansa's offer to be Lord-Commander, and she'd knighted Podrick as a result in the aftermath.

Sansa held up a scroll. “Word from the Iron Islands.” she placed it gently in his hand. “Lady Greyjoy is massing longships at Pyke.” Theon's sister and ruler of the iron-men was one of the strongest of Daenerys's supporters, and she had not been pleased at her death.

Scoffing, Jon threw up his hands. “Perhaps Lady Greyjoy would like to have Pyke burned to ash around her?”

She gripped his hand tight. “Be strong, my love.” Sansa knew the stresses of the task ahead was monumental – and she did not blame him for any sign of faltering. Any man in Jon's position would feel the same way.

He smiled at her. “For you...for you, I am.” He brought her hand to his lips. “Who would want to be king?” he asked, looking around the room. “It is an unenviable task, one not suited to the likes of honest sorts.”

“No, it is not.” she conceded, “yet this is our chance as honest sorts to make the world a better place then those who came before us. To be better then the Cersei Lannisters and Joffreys.” Sansa wrapped her arms around Jon, who brushed his lips against hers.

His eyes looked pained. Even as she kissed him, Sansa saw his gaze fall to the dried blood on the floor near the Iron Throne.

_Where he slew Daenerys._

* * *

It was not an easy choice – she knew this to be so, given the woman was his family by blood if nothing else– but Jon had done what he had to do, for the sake of the family. He had lied to her, given her all the false assurances and mummery of fealty.

Yet his loyalty was with the North.

Sansa felt a great deal of love for him, even more then she normally did at this moment. “You did the right thing.” she whispered, kissing his neck ever so softly; he groaned at her touch.

She stifled a giggle when his hands closed around her bottom as he pulled her into his body. The kiss he gave her was hungry, full of need and desire and want. A surge of excitement washed over her body as she returned this hunger with her own, their tongues clashing together wildly.

“I don't mean to interrupt, Your Grace...”

The voice of Ser Davos brought them apart, little strands of spittle joining their mouths as they turned almost at once to face the Hand, “but we really should go over these appointment possibilities for the Small Council.”

* * *

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Bronn's meeting with Lady Tyrell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic will mostly be about Jon's choices as King as he rebuilds the realm. Sansa, too! Jon here is a mix of book and show; he's not a doormat or an idiot!

Elanora Tyrell bowed, her long blonde hair waving slightly as she did. “Your Grace, I thank you for this audience especially on such short notice.”

She carried herself as befitting a woman of her station; proud, confident and measured. Jon saw what Sansa meant by her being impressive.

“It is no trouble, my lady.” he said, bidding her to a seat. Jon took this meeting in the shattered remnants of the Small Council chamber; the Iron Throne was not a chair he enjoyed sitting in for very long. It ached; the steel sending shards of pain up his back with every movement. “I am told you have met with Ser Bronn as agreed in our correspondence.”

She nodded, taking her seat and smoothing out her dress. “I have.” she paused, offering a nod. Her face betrayed no hint of emotion; yet she seemed to be considering her words carefully.

Jon already suspected that the meeting would go poorly; yet, he was duty bound to attempt to sort out the various promises made by Tyrion. _You damned fool_. “Please, Lady Tyrell. I do not wish you to play me for a fool. Speak honestly and true.” he insisted, folding his hands in his lap.

Today it was his duty to act alone; Sansa and Davos were elsewhere, busy meeting with potential new members of the council. _A King's burden_ , he reasoned.

“Ser Bronn is without a doubt one of the most arrogant individuals I have ever met.” she huffed, shaking her head in annoyance.

Her face began to turn red with anger as she continued, “it is not the fact of his low birth that angers me, Your Grace – many Great Houses have suffered losses throughout the endless wars of late – but how he composes himself.”

“He spent the large portion of our meeting speaking of 'his' castle and 'his' payments, as though we were already wed. When I tried to change topics to something less overt, he consistently refused to speak of anything more then 'our future in a castle'.” she reached for one of the glasses of water set out for them, drinking deep of it.

“My late father offered me many suitors, yet none were as repulsive as this one.”

Saying nothing, Jon rubbed his forehead with his left hand, tapping on the table with his right. “The fool.” he grumbled, looking to her. “I have made it clear to Ser Bronn that should he not meet with your approval that he would get nothing.”

It occurred to him that perhaps he had been too hasty in even attempting to settle this farce.

“I do not mean to pry, Your Grace, but -” Lady Tyrell looked about the room a moment, “- should you be attempting to salvage whatever absurd promises that Tyrion Lannister made? He is not exactly a paragon of strategy, honesty or intellect.”

That much was certain.

He had suggested many absurd plans during his time as Daenerys' Hand, and Jon was loath to allow him to continue suggesting any other absurdities under his reign.

* * *

“No, my lady – you are not incorrect in your belief.” he continued to rub his forehead. “Perhaps I have been too ignorant of the man's negativity.”

“I seek a suitor for my House that will both respect me and our traditions.” she said, refilling her cup. “

“Yet I know that Bronn will not be one to carry out either or. Heirs must be produced, I am not blind – that was Margaery's duty, but now it is mine – but if I am to bear children for a husband, I wish them to be worthy.”

“No, no.” Jon shook his head, gazing out the massive hole in the room off to the left, overlooking the ruins of the city. “You are well within your rights, my Lady. I apologize for...subjecting you to such a poor match.”

She smiled. “No apologies are necessary, Your Grace. I and Highgarden are yours, and I will accept whatever command you give. If I am to marry, I shall be a good wife to whomever my liege lord suggests.”

Rising from her seat, she offered another bow. “If I may, Your Grace – I must see to the provisions we brought. I am hoping to distribute many of them to the orphans in Flea Bottom – or, what is left of it.”

Jon stood up, gesturing to the guard in the far end of the room. “Summon Ser Davos.” he barked, dismissing the man with a wave. He stared out over King's Landing, his hands clenched tight behind his back.

* * *

“Your Grace, I am happy to report we've made good progress in selecting potential Masters of Coin and Ships,” the man bowed as he entered, beaming widely.

Turning to him, Davos grimaced at the anger evident on Jon's face. “Bring Ser Bronn to me. And prepare a black cell. I have had it with him – and Tyrion both.”

"It'll take time, Your Grace -" He began before Jon silenced him with a glare. 

"Just do it."

* * *

“I know that Tyrion was always kind to you, Sansa.” Jon pulled off his boots, throwing them off to the side of the bed. “But I cannot have him or his sell-sword friend causing issues while we attempt to rebuild Westeros.”

Sansa nodded, closing her robe around herself. “Despite his kindness, he was always _her_ creature, first and foremost.”

Daenerys, Jon knew. _Even now, you continue to haunt me._

“And once word gets out about Bronn not being given his prize, it may cause Tyrion to begin to doubt his loyalty to our cause. Not to mention – can we really trust him with the Westerlands?”

“He is the son of Tywin Lannister.” she pointed out, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Aye, he is.” Jon slid himself over to her. “But we know that the lords there do not respect him. They never have – nor will. If we confirm him as Lord Paramount, it may damage our standing there with them. Despite their loyalties to the lion we will need them.”

Her smooth hands felt wonderful on his callused and withered ones. “We will,” she agreed. “and you do raise a troubling possibility, Jon. Banner-men of all types respect strength, both personal and martial. Tyrion possesses wit, tis true – but that does not translate well to strength.”

Falling back onto the soft and fresh sheets, Jon let out a loud sigh. “Gods be good, listen to me.” he lamented, “Plotting and scheming. Scheming and plotting.”

* * *

“This is what we have to do, Jon -” Sansa lay beside him, wrapping her arms around him. He was tense and taught in her grip. “for the good of the realm. We will rebuild and restore all that has been lost. Together – but sometimes we must make difficult choices. Over and over again.”

Nodding, he felt her head resting on his shoulder. “Perhaps they should have made Bran king,” he japed, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “He can see events happening as they unfold. That would be a useful ability to have.”

They shared a laugh at the thought. “If we deny Tyrion his prize...who shall the Rock go to?” Jon said after a moment.

“There are other Lannisters.” Sansa reminded him, “Lesser branches from Lannisport and the like. Yet they still bear the name. Elevate one of them and you will guarantee their loyalty to the crown. That, and you will be able to get the measure of them, to see if they will be agreeable to our plans.”

His eyes growing heavy, Jon exhaled as he allowed his body to rest against the soft pillows. “In the morning, then. For now...we should rest. We have had a long day.”

“Goodnight, Jon.” Sansa whispered as her own eyes fluttered shut. “I love you..” she mumbled just as sleep claimed her.

 

* * *

 


End file.
